


Being Human

by Grex



Category: A Date With Markiplier - Fandom, Markipliers Connected Universe, Who Killed Markiplier
Genre: Animalistic character, Anxiety, Asexual Character, Friendship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, I will force this to be fluffy, It's Wilford, It's like thirty seconds, Kidnapping, Major Original Character(s), Mentions of Violence, Misunderstandings, Multi, Other, Panic Attacks, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, character insanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grex/pseuds/Grex
Summary: When you're bored you find something entertaining. The alters are bored, so very bored. But if very hard to be bored when you find an interesting person... If they have to kidnap them and pull them into the void, well they get to have fun longer is all.(WIP summary. @ me in the comments if you can think of something better)





	Being Human

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of 6 that I have written. I'll post all of them as soon as I have them edited to a point I can read them without crying over grammar and sentence structure.  
> Speaking of Editing, if you find something hmu in the comments!!!!

Mark is charmingly awkward, but nothing like I expected. Weeks of only talking online leading to finally meeting him face to face.  I don’t know exactly what I expected from my friend but this bouncing bundle of excitement wasn’t it. Watching him is like watching a puppy bounce around a new toy, not quite sure what to do, but having a blast.

It’s going to be weird going back to just chatting through text-boxes after this.

The restaurant Mark wanted to try with me is classy but small. Like a little italian place for people with cash to spend. From the rating I could find it looks like a small portions, high price place. I’ve never eaten in one, but I know from movies and stories that I will need more food than this to be full. I don’t know why Mark chose this place for this though, he knows how hungry I always am. Maybe Tom and I can get a pizza later.

Walking in I’m greeted by the host and ushered farther into the main room. It’s a pretty room. Lit by mood light the clothed tables seem to glow softly, lighting up the lone man sitting in the middle of the room. He’s sharply dressed with messy styled dark hair. The restaurant looks almost as nice as Mark does in his suit.

He waves me over, beaming brightly. As I sit across from him, he enthusiastically thrusts a red rose in my direction. It’s disregarded almost before I register it, tossed behind him dramatically. Talking a mile a minute he chatters, barely taking time to breathe. I think I catch a complement in the mess of words. This babble I expected. It was something he warned me of before asking me out. That both of us babble when we’re nervous is funny; imagine the chaos if we’re both nervous at the same time.

As familiar and nice as he seems, I worry slightly that I’ve been set up. There is no mention of the new podcast episode that we both fan over and he seems to be pretending that we don’t know each other at all. The most concerning thing he’s said to me was one of the first things said, “It’s like I already know you. Have we met?”

My worry that maybe one of his friends set us up makes me watch him closely. It’s like I’m talking with someone who only knows the basics about me.  I’ve been chatting with Mark for weeks online, he should know more than my name. I breath in heavily. Tom, would tell me I’m being paranoid. “What if he just wanted to start out with a clean slate?” Relaxing I let it go and let Mark steamroll his way through the meal.

For all my worry, he is still the charming a goofy guy I know. The entertainment from that is almost enough to make up for the lack of food. He makes me smile and giggle through the meal, jumping up to smell every dish that passes by our table. He is far dorkier than I would have thought. It’s cute in a jittery sort of way.

The staff seem to be pushing us speedily through the meal, but it shocks me when the Cook himself comes out of the shadows to ask who was paying. I know for a fact that no one from my family has eaten here so I assume Mark has done something to annoy him. I don’t know what he could have done to piss off the burly cook, it’s not like he’s murdered someone in here.

The Cook slaps a heavy hand on his shoulder and growls, “Who’s gonna pay for this?”

Mark side eyes me and quickly says, “I can take care of this.” He pats down his pockets. The lower he gets the farther his face drops. Shooting me a somewhat panicked look he begins babbling. Apparently, he had left his wallet at home.

Ah, so the Cook could smell empty pockets and came to bet money out of us.

The Cook, already snarling, picks up Marks’ blunt dinner knife threateningly and pulls up on the handful of jacket under his hand lifting Mark out of his chair. Mark’s eyes get big and he looks over to me pleading, “Maybe you could pay?”

A warbly “please” squeaks from Mark and both men look over at me. I look at Mark’s scared puppy face with a practiced easy grin of amusement. I also hand over my credit card.

Mark is immediately dropped back into his seat and the Cooks' attitude makes a scarily sharp detour from “about to tear you apart” to “I would let this man babysit children”. With fake laughter, a thank you, and a stiff handshake, the Cook steps back into the shadows. I’m going to have to cancel that card because I’m not asking for it back.

Rolling my eyes I smile at the relief Mark shows openly. As we get up from the table he breathlessly says, “Come on there’s more of this date to show you. There’s this awesome-”

Startling us both the Cook steps out of the shadows and joyously slaps Mark’s shoulder as we near the door. Mark bonjours and cringes away. He continues the sentence as he opens the door, “-play to see. It’s going to be incredible.”

There is a glimmer of what might be blind enthusiasm in his eye. He seems recovered from almost being knifed fairly quickly. Mark might make a good friend yet.

The sun is blinding as we walk to his car. That door is opened for me too. Even though he pokes awake my instincts, the gooey puppy dog eyes crush any meager resistance I have about furthering this date. Tom will laugh at me for being silly. Like he said, Not everyone is out to get you.

“Come on, we’ll be late to the show,” at his urging I climb into the car. The door shuts with a small woof of warm air. Mark quickly jumps into the driver's seat and begins rambling about how he’s heard great things about the play he’s taking me to, how I’ll ‘love’ it. We arrive fairly quickly to an empty parking lot.

Almost before the car is parked we are helped out by two men, who greet us in the worst fake French accents I’ve heard since Aunt Ploi got drunk at her son’s coming-of-age ceremony. Mark recits the “bonjour” back to the two with an accent that is somehow worse than either of them. A snort of laughter escapes me and Mark immediately siddles back to me, continuing our conversation about how “incredibly good” the play is.

He stops me before we enter, “And I just wanted to say, thanks for coming out with me.” It’s shocking to hear the honesty in his voice. I bite back a smile. Mark then opens the door while attempting to compliment me, “I mean you’re beautiful... You’re handsome.”

I blink at his sudden awkwardness and blink again when the staff “Bonjours” us inside. Mark is very excited about the snack machine in the lobby. In three pats his face drops as he remembers his lost wallet. A shamed grin is sent my way before we go in.

I hope that the show has already been paid for. My funds are small unfortunately and mom… mom can’t find out about this.

Lunging for what appears to be free popcorn Mark doesn’t seem to notice that I grab my own on the way by. Any trace of shame is gone as he jovially turns back towards me asking, “Hey, you want some popcorn?” I catch the piece thrown my way in my mouth. It tastes like dust. He gives the popcorn piece in his hand a strange look and mutters to himself, “And how about some for me?”

Mark tosses the piece into his mouth while his head wobbles like a bobblehead. He then turns on his heels to kiss the ticketer’s hand. He is much weirder in person that I would have ever guessed online. He might be flirting with the ticketer. Either way, he isn’t facing me when I put the dust-popcorn back.

The slight worry that this isn’t exactly who I think it is rises. But what I do know is that while every move Mark makes is large, showcased, and honestly makes me a little flinchy, he seems like a fun guy I would like to get to know. Plus I need to prove to myself and Tom that I can make friends. I mentally nod, friend. Mark, even with this… weirdness, could be a friend.

He turns dramatically back towards me, breaking my train of thought. With a low voice he exclaims, “Oh, this is perfect!”

Goofily he poses in front of a double door. Two drastically different posters are taped to each door. A skeleton poses under the heavily printed words **Dark Mark** on one. It honestly looks like a bad Harry Potter parody. On the other, two men lie shirtless on a grassy hill. Neither look promising.

“We’ve got two plays to pick from.” Suddenly he spits the popcorn out of his mouth and keeps talking. I hold back barks of laughter at the blank look of excited innocence on his face.

Crooning deeply he asks, “Do we see the romance, _Love Too Soon_?” I see a short flash of distaste as he says romance but it smoothes out as his voice deepens, “Or the horror? The Dark Mark?”

For being such a romantic person I would’ve definitely pegged him as a cheesy romance person. Spotting the look of distaste only reminds me of the “Mark” I talked to online, and our mutual dislike for “chick flicks”. We talked about that just a week ago. It was one of the reasons I decided we could try a date like he had been hinting at for weeks.

But this Mark tosses both options back and forth like a hot potato, his already deep voice going darker every time he says horror. I smile and softly say, “The horror, Mark.” He smiles widely back at me.

In a small fit of spite I continue, “Thinking as the horror movie buddies we are would see a romance! Atrocious!” Scoffing jokingly I toss my head like a ponce. My Mark would have known that.

He smiles wider and says, “That’s a good idea. I’ve never actually seen this play before. I don’t even know who made it… so this could be a fun adventure.”

Mentally I shake off the paranoia and spite and take the hand offered to me. A setup this might be, but I think this one is less… risky than the ones I’m used to.

Mark surprises me by opening the door with a smoothness that is astonishing, especially with the rest of the dates shenanigans to go off of. He seems like a real gentleman, instead of the spazzy puppy that I just ate with.

We both startle as the tall ticketer at the booth shouts, “Good luck!”

Mark does the only thing either of us can do. He gives an uneasy, “Bonjour,” and closes the door quickly behind us. Walking backwards to face me he starts talking again, the uneasiness seemingly forgotten, “Anyway, I uh, don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before but I am a “patron of the arts” and uh-”

With a swing of his arm, Mark’s hand flies over my head. I hold back a flinch at the dramatic movements that he likes. It’s a good thing I’m shorter than him otherwise I’d have gotten some damage from that swing. He doesn’t seem the type to watch where he’s swinging his limbs, a bit like my sister.

I listen absently as he rambles about loving theaters and artists. He turns back to look at me directly, “It all just stokes the embers in my soul.” I smile and nod like I didn’t zone out. Even if he’s not the type to get angry about that I feel bad for not hearing what he said.

We sit down in the first row of a still empty theater. No one is even in the back. Mark turns in his seat asking, “Would you like some popcorn?”

Before I can decline the dust-popcorn his attention is snatched by the… nothing on stage. I look back to Mark in confusion and begin to make a squirrel joke, but he’s not there. How did he disappear that quickly?

Glancing back to the stage to see where he might have gone I am hit with a steady build of sound and flashing lights. Whatever effects they’re using make my vision blur the edges of the stage. It hurts to look at.  I can feel panic beginning to claw into my chest.

I yell for them to stop, and try to get up and run out. I can’t. Paralyzed by sound and fear I can’t even turn my head to see if anyone is coming. A blurred figure flashes in center stage. This is no special effect. This is something else entirely.

My shoulders tense even as I sink further into the chair. I can smell something coming.

 

The world around me dims, flickers and doubles suddenly as a shriekingly high scream of sound pierces through my head. My vision splits, again and again, multiplying until I can’t make out any images of what must be millions of stages. The high pitch rings in my ears, building until I scream. In a blink, I am pulled into a bottomless black that closes in around me.

In a crack of sound and color Mark’s face is close to mine as he leans in. A black void expands behind him. Backlit in a glitchy aura of red and blue he looks ill. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, dark bags and grey skin. Dark eyes stare intently at me under a mess of wild fringe. Intensity and sharp intelligence glitter in them. I hate it. There is something wrong with his eyes.

Shrieking sound stabs through the silence like the ring after a gunshot. Shifting closer he speaks, “ **Did you miss me?** ” Mark’s voice is a mess of sound echoing like layers of old recordings forced to play while they fall apart.

The world is shifting and his voice echoes like I’ve been hit over the head. I recoil from the sound in an aborted flinch. Fear of the void-being standing too close sends my hackles up to my ears. Watching him makes my vision fall apart in rips of black and glitchy color.

The red and blue lights duplicate and stretch psychedelically. Shards of color pull away from grey skin, sucking in any color that could’ve been. The colorless man is a black hole.

“Mark?” I ask softly. The scarily wide grin that he gives is more like a pleased cat smiling at the bird under its paws than any of the excitable puppy smiles Mark had earlier.

He ignores me and rumbles, “I missed **You** , **very much.** ” His face is suddenly much too close for comfort and still flickering in and out like a glitchy TV. A red ghost stretches off the colorless body, reaching into the void around us. The mirrored image slowly moves with Mark leaning in towards me.

My heart races in my ears. This void-being isn’t Mark, but just once more I question him as if he is. With my heart in my throat I stutter, “What, what do you mean? I’ve been with you all-”

A crackle of sound makes me blink. The being’s father away now, looking at me like my cousin looks at ants before they combust under a magnifying glass. I panic.

Heart racing and nauseous I panic and try to bolt. I don’t even move an inch before looping lines of pressure and rough unseen hands pin me in place. The void creature doesn’t move a muscle except to let a smirk grow. It spreads wide, bearing teeth mockingly.

Thrashing I strain against bonds I can’t see. I can’t move. My vision whites out in panic. The strain of breathing is growing painful. I. Can’t. MOVE! There is nothing I can do. My terror of being caught like a stupid animal almost makes me miss Not-Marks rumbled words, “I’ve been waiting a **long time** to see you again.”

I freeze in place. It’s been waiting for me?

The void creature stands stiffly in front of me, arms behind its back. Tipping its head gracefully he looks at me intensely. The echo in its voice is mostly gone. He sounds more in control. Control only means pain for me.

My stomach drops. I’m not going to be leaving here. I am never going to see Tom again. Tears bite at the back of my throat. I refuse.

I pull the panic running wild under my skin and display that instead of the dread. Forcefully I plead, “What’s going on?!”

Mark’s eyes darken and lock on mine. Eyes burn like the wrath of hellfire. He straightens its shoulders stiffly and rises to its full height. With palpable hatred it speaks clearly, “I’ve been pushed aside, replaced, “ he rolls out his shoulders and snarls, “ **Mocked**.”

My eyes can’t focus, lines of static cut across my vision making its whole image surreal. Fear fills my veins but I can’t move. The invisible bonds tighten to painful levels but I’d be paralyzed simply by the wrath in its eyes.

“ **And then he** had the **g** all to not invite me to his little.. adventure with you.” He sounds calm even when his face is terrifying. I can see the carefully bottled rage in his eyes. That is not healthy, not healthy at all, and definitely not for me. “No more. **Never again**.”

The pressure surrounding me increases as he flickers closer. Close enough I can smell the static coming off him. He blurs under the pressure in my head. Red, blue, grey, all the same, all angry. A whisper that holds too much rage is heard booming around me, “ **IT’S MY TURN NOW**.” His voice surrounds me like the roar of a train in a tunnel feet from making impact.

He gets louder and angrier with every syllable. Screams of panic race through my mind, shrieking louder than the pitch ringing in my ears. This what I get for trying to get away from family meetings. Oh, mom would find this ironic, not family, but a stupid DATE that ends me!

The pressure around me tightens so much it’s hard to breathe, but it brings me back out of blind panic. Distantly I can hear his voice echoing in booming claps of sound; see the tightly coiled rage locked in limbs that move too fast, “ **I’ve been waiting** **_Patiently_ ** **!** ”

The pressure in my head builds. The ringing in my ears so shrill it hurts to think. Panic and tears claw into my throat. It’s all I can do not to scream, to cry in agony just due to the pressure in my head. “ **He** **_Promised_ ** **he would let me in again!** ”

He sighs. Suddenly his voice is a tired calm, “I’m tired of giving people **a choice.** ”

Jerkily he adjusts his suit jacket like it has personally wronged him. The tie is tightened next in clawed fingers like a noose. I watch them warily and hope that the hands that tighten it won’t be around my neck soon.

He takes a sudden deep breath in and sighs letting the tension in his shoulders fall. The suit is smoothed; wrinkles he pulled into it are pressed down. My need to shut down lessens as the ringing stops blaring around me.

He begins again, speaking as if he is enunciating to a child, “Though I suppose I could give you one last option. **GO ON take your pick.** ANYTHING of… four different choices. It’s more than **he** could’ve given you.” He folds his arms behind his back and smirks at me, “And let’s see how far this rabbit hole **Really** goes.”

From the calm emerges mocking rage. Hissing, barking words are hurled at me, “So take your pick. Show me wha **-t** you've got!” A challenge is in his voice, but a challenge for what I don’t know.

“And maybe,” it pauses to look at me and chuckles darkly, smirking with a playful nod of his head, “we’ll have a good **_date_ ** after all.” The words are tasted in its mouth like a flavor it’s not sure it likes, but at the end tosses its head like a preening bird, all while a smirk hides behind a suddenly pleasant if cocky demeanor.

This is the strangest day. What on earth is going on? Who does this creature think I am? Why in the gods names does he think I want to date him!? There is so much going on that this feeling of numbness doesn’t bother me. It allows me to think. There is something going on here that goes beyond whatever supernatural serial killer nonsense is happening.

Priorities. I have four options. That is the most unbelievable thing I’ve heard since my therapist told me my family wasn’t trying to kill me. Four options… like what? “Say nothing and I kill you for being boring.” I know my great-aunt did something like that. “Scream if you’re masochistic and stupid,” “ask for death,” (which we all know doesn’t work) or “whatever you want me to do.” I don’t have options. Why do you mock me with the offer of options when there are none!

I glare through the haze of pain tears. The void creature only smirks and tosses his head elegantly. Whatever is going on, this is not Mark. Not either of them. Mark was definitely human, there was no smell to him at all. He could not have pulled me into this void.  This thing did something to Mark, pulled me into a void and wants me to make a choice without telling me anything. Maybe being blunt will play in my favor.

Quietly I ask, “What option leads to not death?” I can’t force myself to look him in the eye. Eyes know too much, see too much. They’re too dark, pulling me in like… Wonderland’s rabbit hole.

An arrogant smirk flits across his face before the mask covers it again. As if he’s praising me he says, “Good choice. But why do we need to choose in life?”

Somehow, I get the feeling “we” only means me. In a blink, we’re sitting down at a table exactly like the one I sat at an hour ago. With Mark this table had been colorful and lively, here I’m not sure I am alive.

“If dinner is what you want then I can provide,” is calmly spoken, almost hesitant as if we are actually sitting down for a dinner. It’s mocking me, “And I can take you wherever you’d like to go.” Is he boasting? Who is he trying to convince, me or this ‘he’?

Bathed in shadows his voice mirrors the darkness of his face in a deep growl, “I **_especially_ ** can take you places you **Don’t** want to go.”

I shiver in fear as the threat rumbles through my bones. The thin layer of calm is fractured in static as he doubles; a red image looms over him threateningly. The act of the kind gentleman sitting across from me doesn’t break.

In a low purr, he says, “It’s exciting,” a nearly flirty smile flashes at me, “Knowing that there are Endless possibilities.. Waiting for you.”

Quick as a blink he’s raging. Fingers in claws he tears the world apart in streams of glitching tatters. He yells in thunder claps of terrible desperation, “I. CAN GIVE **Y** OU. **ANYTHING!** ”

The rage is gone as quick as it came but leaves me clawing into the seat in fear. He sits across the table again, hands loose on either side of a dinner plate, no longer ripping apart the void.

Its voice is scolding but controlled. He’s trying to stay in control, stay in character. Red and blue layer over him like separate figures sitting in almost the same spot.

“I’ve been waiting. a long. time,” he seems stiff with his words and I can still hear a soft undercurrent of anger hiding underneath, “to get some… personal time between us.”

He looks into my eyes as he motions between us at the table. I can feel my heart stutter. I think he can taste my terror.

The table shortens. Crazed fire burns in his eyes. I can feel the rush of air as he roars, “ **KARMA, THERE IS NOTHING YOU OR HE CAN DO TO STOP ME!** ”

I fall into panicked shutdown. My lungs don’t work. It feels like a stake being driven into my chest. I can’t look away from the thing that tears through void like paper when it rages.

Another glitch torn and it’s as if nothing happened. He sits calmly back in his chair and talks like it’s done nothing, “So… now that we are here together,” the calm is disturbing, at odds with the terror still racing through my veins, “we should really get to know each other.”

A double of the creature pulls away screaming into the void. The original is calm its voice around me like a riptide, a mask of desire and calm assurance. I find it difficult to listen through my panic and the sounds of agony of the split image. The pitch rings in my ears shrieking eternally.

The original ignores the doubles pulling away from him to clutch at their limbs and scream and moves his arm smoothly in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture. I can not hear his honeyed words and the gesture goes all but ignored.

The next thing I hear is, “You just need to let me in… it’s as simple as that.” His voice is low and derisive, with a smile that’s mocking.

In a pop of sound, the void fizzes and returns. We stand alone in a dark alley, the void creature sucking in any color. There is no sound aside from the pitch still shrieking in my ears.

The invisible ropes and tight hands that held me in place are gone but I don’t move under his gaze. Pitch eyes pin me in place instead. His voice never stops. The pitch the screaming the revered of sounds is killing me. I’m lightheaded with fear and I can feel the instinctual urge to submit peak.

In the alley, he is taller than me and the cracking doubles and layers of color are gone. He speaks with calm surety, “You’re never, **ever** , going to escape me. Not now-”

The overwhelming darkness that seeps from him is gone in an instant as he is tackled from the side by… Mark? I hear a faint, “What the hell?” from the Mark that was talking, but I’m not really listening. I slowly fumble in the bag that is still somehow on my shoulder. Wallet, gum, inhaler… GOT IT

The two Marks are fighting like sissies until one of them pulls a gun out of his pants, and then promptly drops it. It skids towards me I scoop it up quickly. I drop the knife back in my bag and aim the barrel down.

The doppelgangers separate accusing the other of being fake. The Mark on the right is talking about the other being dark and a “bad influence”. The other says he is a liar, a LIAR, “he’s dark, I’m Mark.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am stupid pleased with this fic, but I know it needs work.. Tell me about it in the comments below!!! :)


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